Torn
by Coroxn
Summary: Born to a Sired Slayer, the rules are different for Damien. Years fighting evil with Annie-Marie has earned him the rank hero. But when he's attacked by Freelancer Oz, it sets in motion a series of events that will shake the world-The Silence will fall.
1. The Beginning

"I was born in rage and fire, like every vampire.  
But I was born unique.  
I was _born_.

My mother was a Slayer. She knew nothing about her calling, until all of a sudden she became strong, untill all of a sudden it came to her. She was a potential all her life without knowing. She was pregnant with me. It would have been fine, I would have been born, she would have fought.  
But she was sired.  
When a vampire restrains from the bliss that is the blood of a slayer, when he cuts himself open and gives himself to her, she becomes a Vampire. Armed with tenfold a normal vampire's strength, but rid of the morals that once bound her. She becomes hell.

And her son?  
Unprecidented.  
I was a first.  
I _am_ a first.

Under normal circumstances of pregnant vampires, the child will die, and after some unpleasant business, his former mother will be rid of it. Only my mother's twice inhuman strength brought me into this world.  
Only my thrice inhuman strength let me survive in it.

I ow it all to my mother.  
For whatever reason, she kept me. I couldn't tell you why. At first, I must have been a hindrence. A babey with a thirst for blood. But, I suppose, as I grew, I became helpful. And I did grow. I can't be sure, because back then we didn't keep track of time, But I'm almost sure I had the body of a sixteen year old when I was four.

Come to mention it, I can see how I would have been useful. Show me, a tiny kid, first six, then eight, then ten, then twelve, and not a single person would refuse to let me in. Even then, I could deal damage. I would push them out, at the worst, drive them to the ground, whenever.

I tried to avoid spilling blood. But the lust always won out. I would drink, be lost in the bliss, the animalistic bliss of taking their life and bringing it into my veins. But there was a price later. Because I _felt _it. Every death, every scream, every beg for mercy, every cry for their mother, everything my mother could just wave away-no, everything she could _enjoy_, I felt it in my heart.  
My _soul_.  
Cause that's the problem, isn't it?  
My soul. God, all the times I tried to rip it out...  
Until I said no more. Until years of dealing death drove me to it.  
I challenged my mother.  
I challenged her.

I told her this was wrong.  
She looked at me with disgust and tried to kill me.  
But I watched her for years, for all my life, and taken from the leftovers. I'd seen how she faught, studied her, watched her because she was all I had, all my soul had clung onto. I didn't win that fight because I was better. I won the fight because I knew her and she hadn't even looked at me. She was just using me. I was a tool, used to get food, nothing more.

I'd never faught before. It came naturaly. Guess I have her to thank for that to. But it did leave me in a bad place. Left in a dark alley, with nothing but dust to cling on to. Happy times. A changing point. I don't remember much after that. Dark times, repressed memories, and all that. I'm pretty glad. As far as those memories go, I'm glad I forgot them. The last thing I need is that.

For a while I was aimless. Purposeless. Just scrounging up the money to pay for the butchers' blood. Worthless. I had nothing to live for, I was just existing.  
I can't really remember when I started saving people. It was something I just did, I guess. I've been doing it for years. It's habit. And it's the right thing to do. What else could I have? What other path could I have taken?"

"You could have been rich. Eaten everyone you ever saw, killed them all, taken everything, killed everything" he says, pressing the blade to my throat. His foot crushes my ankle painfuly, and his left hand is bathed in my blood. Blood is seeping into his left eye from that cut I left on his forehead, but his right seems to make up for it, with it's smooth alertness.  
"You expect me to believe you'd fight the good fight for the fun of it?"

I shrug. "Yeah"

"And you've left nothin' out?" he asks, unsurprisingly doubtful. "Because, as long as that was, I can't imagine that's your whole life"

"Well" I laugh. "The reason I answered 'Any last words?' with a life story isn't because I'm feeling existential. I'm stalling. And there is one thing I left out"

He cocks his head, black mangled hair falling over his wound.  
"And what would that be?"

"Anna-Marie" I smile.

He grunts. "Why you smilin'? I look-"

He's cut short by a flinch-incurring _crack_, and the sword that's pressed against my throat gives way. To the guy's credit, he's immediately trying to get an elbow into that lovely nose of the lovely Anna, but the girl's to experienced for that. With a twist of her arm, she has both of his locked behind his back.

I give him a punch in the cheek, and when he still stays standing, give him another. He goes down.

"Hey" I welcome Anna.

"Hey" She smiles back. "What's happening?"  
I snatch a drawer open and take out some cord, grabbing his arms and tie his unconcious wrists together.  
"Oh, nothing much. The usual"


	2. Awake and Falling

The first thing we do is chain my unconcious attacker up. But chains are expensive, and we don't have a whole lot of money, so we end up using cord instead. Ten, fifteen lines of it wrapped round his arms and strapping him inside the closet. It's not the best solution, a Vampire could snap it. But this guy is only human. Every self-repecting vampire would rise after the two punches I gave this guy. Definitely human.

Although I'm loathe to leave him in the closet, it really is the best place for him. We strap a bandana around his mouth, just in case he starts to scream when he wakes up. Part of me wants to kill him. The other part wants to know why he attacked me. Is he evil? Or good, thinking I'm evil? I can't risk killing an ally.

So we wait till he regains conciousness. Anna-Marie and I. It's sheer luck she arrived when she did, coming back with the shopping. I'm impressed with her wrist move, and the arm lock. It's what I've trained her for, and she's performed well. I should tell her, soon, before I forget. We talk as we unload the shopping.

"I don't know much" I admit, as I throw the vegitables in the fridge.  
"How much don't you know?" she asks, in that round about way that's impossible to answer simply.  
"A whole lot" I try. "There was a knock on the door. I answered. There was no one there"  
"And?" she asks, stacking cans of various meats into a cupboard.  
"I didn't see the grenade until it was too late. I tried slamming the door-"  
"Which is why it was blown of it's hinges" she remarks.  
"And why I wasn't blown to pieces" I snap.  
"Hmm" she pretends to ponder. "Damien or door? Damien or door..."  
"Damien pays for you" I remind her.  
"Close win for you, then" she smiles, slotting more food away.  
"As it was, I was thrown against the back wall. He advanced. I threw the stereo at him. It cut his head, didn't do much else. Then he stepped on my ankle, pressed his blade against my throat, and said 'Any last words'"  
"And?" she asks.  
I laugh. "I told him my life story, literally. I was stalling. The you came. Nice moves, by the way. You did well. Saved my life"  
She blushes. "Thanks" she says, slotting the last of the food away.

We walk to the dining room, and I slot a Kiesh in the Microwave, making dinner for us both. I don't really need food, but it feels good in my stomach. Besides, she needs to see me getting energy from somewhere, and I don't think she'd enjoy learning about my blood escapades. She heads into her room to change. I don't change till right before bed, because a lot of our work is at night. I flick on the TV, and I see an episode of _The Simpsons_. Not the most mature, but then again, me and Anna are probably the most immature heroes there are. Looking at us, you'd think to yourself "The world is _definitely _doomed".

I watch for a while, but mostly I think. The guy who attacked me, they guy in my closet, has some explaining to do. It's possible he's some sort of Freelancer, who thinks I'm evil, but a Freelancer that weak wouldn't last long, and besides, all the demon bars would be brimming with news about how I killed another of their kind. Maybe that's it, some guys told him I was evil, to pit him against me. Either way, they'd lose a hunter. I shake my head. No point in making theories, all I can do is wait for him to wake up.

I only register how long Anna's been gone when I hear the familiar hollow click her door makes when it closes, but not properly, because of the slightly warped wood.

I turn to her and she's in a state.  
"What happened?" I ask, instantly alert, but she waves my attentiens away.  
"I..." she blanches, but doesn't throw up. "I got another vision"  
"Are you okay?" I ask. She nodds. "Who about? When?"  
"Well, it's the oddest thing" she begins. "I think it was about...us"  
"Us? You're being warned about a danger to us?" My thoughts are instantly on our captive.  
"Not...not really _us..._" she says, "More of a _me, _ really"

I notice, as always, a split second too late, that the closet doors wide open.  
Anna gives a soft scream as he smashes the back of her head in with the butt of an ax.  
A split second later, I give a snarl.  
I know my vampire face is showing.  
I know it's my true face.

I go true a list of things in my head as I rush for him, mind working much faster than it should be able to. He's weak. I took him down with two punches. But, then, he head both hands behind his back. Maybe he's agile. Maybe that's his strength. And the stealth he showed, in getting out of the closet and behind Anna soundlessly, hiding behind her, so close, so quiet even she didn't hear.

All this information doesn't come to much. He swings the axe, I grab it and punch him. He's down again. I grab him by the collar of his black denim jacket, and I look at his face. Nose round, cheeks soft, forhead inclined, and dark brown hair, unwashed and unkempt. His eyes are fierce.

I will make him suffer for what he's done.  
I will make him-  
My thoughts, however malicous, are interupted as he kicks me in the stomach.  
A human kick would wind me.  
This kick sends me across the room.

And I'm confused again (and in pain. Let's not forget the pain). He's supernaturally strong. But humanly weak. I'm not sure if it's better or worse vice-versa. All I know is that I've knocked him unconscious before, and I'll bloody well do it again.  
I'm up, rushing for him, and he tosses the axe expertly, putting all the power in the spin, so that it comes at me like a volitile cyclone. I roll underneath it, and rush for him. All of a sudden he's got a crossbow, and I'm five steps away. I know I can reach him if I-

_Twang!  
_The bolt is loose-  
_Splelch!  
_It's embedded in me-  
_Schlick!  
_And it comes out the other side.

I collapse to my knees, and he smacks me to the ground with strength that should not be his. He turns from me, and spends a while rooting around in my weapon/board game closet. For my part, I bleed. The pain and the sickly strenght off loosing blood grips me, and I feel too weak to even move. This is the human in me. Any second now, the vampire will kick in.

When he comes from the closet weilding my halbeard, I hope that second comes soon. He appraises the weapon, slowly, knowing he's got me. I try to look pathetic, buy me some time for the vampiric adrenaline to kick in. It's not exactly hard. He hold up my simple, store-bought weapon:from it's varnished wooden shaft to the heavy metal head, spikes arced like a fancy design. He spots the blood on the tips, because I haven't polished it recently. Then he snaps it at the very end, leaving a jagged, sharp edge. He leans over, taunting me for a few seconds, and I just think _What a worthless way to die. The things I've taken down...To end to this?_

If I just had more time to recover...  
But he's taken whatever time he's taking.  
He holds the halbeard high, and drives it at my heart.  
I raise both hands in a half-hearted attempt to stop the blow-  
And they stop it. I blink, and I realize he thought I was dead. He thought I was done for. He thought I couldn't defend myself.  
He was wrong.  
And now I have something. I shove the weapon up with all my might, and the blade end clashes with his face. He collapses. I see a long, shallow gash, where the blade cut him. He stares at me, contemplating whether to run or finish me off. I rise to my knees, and grab the halbeard.

He runs.  
I toss it after him, and it follows him through the door and embeds istelf in the wall of the hall. I allow myself two seconds of rest before I rise, then I rush to Anna-Marie. She's unconscious, but she'll live. I carry her to the couch. I grab some bandages from the weapins/board games/medicinal supplies closet. I throw my shirt off and wrap the bandages around my bolt wound. I throw back on my shirt, and I'm about to rush after him, when I have an idea.

A stupid idea.

They're always my best ones.  
I throw on a jumper and jacket as well, then open my balcony doors.  
I feel the superhuman blood in my veins, numbing the pain as I lift my mattress from my room. I wobble it through to the door, and bring it out to the balcony.

I live on the ninth floor of the building. That fall would kill anyone. Even me.  
But only just. With the mattress, I might-might, being the key word-fall unscathed. And because the building has only one entrance, and because as I'm standing here in the bitter cold of late evening, with my mattress, I'm staring at it, he can't avoid me. He has to come through here. He'll never suspect my arial attack.

The automated doors open and close often, but I don't see my man. He must be taking his time. Minutes pass, and Anna stirs in her sleep. I stare back at her, hope she's all right. She'll live, but she won't have known what's happened to me if she wakes up whilst I'm gone. I start to think, in the absance of my target, how stupid I must look, standing out here with my mattress, in the freezing cold. I-

I see him.  
I don't let myself have time to think, because if I think, fear will stop me, and I can't let him get away, not after everything he's done, to me and Annie-Marie, so I just plant my right foot on the rail and propel myself forward, screwing my eyes shut and hoping I don't kill myself in this crazy plan.

I don't scream. I'm not afraid. There's a rush, a blissful feeling of weightlessness, and flight, and all regrets disappear. This is an experience, my eyes closed, my head pointed down, the breeze lapping at my clothes, almost playfully. And then it grows and _snatches the mattress from my hands._

___Now _I scream.


End file.
